A Winter's Tale
by GemmaH
Summary: England 1891. Though the winter is harsh, it's more than a roaring fire in the servants' hall that's warming Isabella Swan's cheeks. There's also the matter of a local farmer turned poacher, who threatens to steal her heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Thanks for coming and giving my latest story a try :). It's not like anything I've ever written before and that fact terrifies me. I've almost deleted the whole thing several times over the past week, but then I decided to just get on with it, so here it is, *bites nails*. I've researched to the best of my abilities, but sometimes the internet just won't play ball, so I apologise for any inaccuracies! **

**Huge thanks to Chocaholic123 and Claire Bamboozle for their help and support!**

**I don't intend this to be a huge fic, but it's not all written yet, so I'm not going to make any predictions about finish dates, etc. **

**My intended update schedule is weekly**

**I hope you enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer!**

**England - November, 1891**

**Isabella**

**Chapter 1**

I gasped as my foot slipped through the icy crust of the soft mud and plunged into the freezing water below. I inadvertently let go of my skirts, the layers of material slipping from my numb hands, as a series of shivers ran through my body. The carts that travelled down the lane made little difference in summer, but come winter the wheels made deep furrows in the muddy ground. These ruts filled with water, and then froze when the deep chill of winter spread across the land. My sure-footedness had failed me more than once on the lengthy journey, as my woefully inadequate footwear became sodden, sinking through what appeared to be thoroughly frozen ground into the bitter puddles beyond. Now, it appeared, my skirts were to suffer too, the dirty water already soaking up into the layers of cotton.

Lifting my head I saw the welcoming plumes of smoke that twisted from the chimney pots of the gamekeeper's cottage. Watching my footing carefully this time, I speeded up, eager to embrace the warmth of the fire and my family, the familiar smell drifting down from the rooftop, making me all the more eager to see them and find out exactly what had been going on in my absence.

As I approached the old, pitted wooden door, I considered knocking to announce my presence, but impatience, and the horrifying thought of rapping my painfully cold fingers against the solid wood, drove me determinedly forward.

"I got your message!" The words tumbled out as I burst through the front door of the cottage. "What on earth happened?" I unfastened my bonnet, setting it on a coat peg, and shrugged out of my thick, mustard shawl. Winter had set in determinedly, turning the ground to stone and unleashing a ferocious bite into the air.

"Isabella!" My mother looked up from the over-shirt she was repairing in front of the fire. "Whatever are you doing here?"

"Mrs Cope said I should come," I told her. "She said I was of no use to her, fretting so."

Mother frowned at me and shook her head, her mouth set in a thin line of disapproval.

"You always were a worrier," she said. "As for your father, the fool got himself caught by his own man-trap; it snagged one of his limbs in Gas Wood. It would have been a lot worse if he hadn't had on those leather gaiters he insists on wearing. The wounds aren't terribly deep. The doctor says he's to keep them clean, and rest."

A look of worry embedded itself in her soft features, because we both knew Charles Swan, gamekeeper, and if there was one thing he didn't do well, it was rest.

"Is he in bed?" I asked.

"For now. He's fussing about his pheasants. Says as soon as folks know he's bed-ridden, they'll be poaching his birds left, right and centre."

"He's probably right," I conceded. "It's a miracle he made it home. However did he get free?"

I busy myself, setting the copper kettle to boil above the steady and welcome heat of the flames.

"He was fortunate one of the young farm labourers happened by at dawn. Got him free, and all but carried him home. He'd have still been stuck fast now, if it wasn't for the youngest Cullen boy."

I stopped short, waiting for my heart to catch up.

"Cullen?" I asked. "Edward Cullen?"

My mind darted to the last few times I'd seen him - strong, capable arms carrying out the heavy work of the farm in the fields along the roadside and the open farmyard further along the way. Each time I'd looked quickly away as his eyes found me watching him, my lungs briefly starved of air as his attention stole away my ability to breathe properly. The way he looked at me made my stomach flip like a fish pulled from the river, dropped floundering at the feet of the heron whose sole intention is to devour it. Thinking of it now made me feel much the same way.

Mother looked at me for a long moment before seeds of mirth scattered across her face, and sprouted into a wide smile.

"Why, Isabella. I do believe your cheeks have grown red."

I took on a haughty air, my skirts swirling as I spun around, turning my back on her.

"Pfft. It's the heat of the fire thawing the chill from outdoors. Nothing more," I scolded her with a glance back over my shoulder.

"Whatever you say," she appeased me, turning her gaze back to her work, although the smile didn't leave her lips.

"Where's Alice?" I asked, as eager to see my twelve year old sister as I was to change the direction of the conversation. Of all the things I missed about living at home since I left to take up residence on Lord Newton's estate as a dairymaid, I missed her the most.

"She's not home from school yet. She's taken to walking with that youngest Whitlock boy. The blond one."

"Jasper?" I asked.

"Yes! That's it. He's teaching her all about songbirds."

I looked at her sceptically and she raised her brow in answer. Alice and I had been taught all there was to know about birds from our father by the time we were five years old. If there was anything left for Jasper to teach her that she didn't already know, I'd be most surprised.

"Are you hungry?" Mother asked. "There's a little bread."

"I'm fine," I reassured her. "I think I'll go up and look in on Father," I told her, moving towards the stairs.

"Don't wake him if he's sleeping!" she called after me.

~WT~

The bedroom was in darkness, the curtains drawn to shut out the chill draughts that cut through the house at this time of year, as much as the light. A fire burned warm in the grate, and the metallic smell of the burning coal grazed my nostrils as I entered.

"Father?" I whispered, minding my mother's orders.

"I thought I heard your voice, Isabella," my father said, his voice hoarse. The pile of blankets on the bed stirring as he tried to push himself upright. I heard him grunt and rushed to his side.

"Here, let me help," I insisted, catching his thick arm and hoisting him as best I could.

"Thank you," he said. "You're a good girl."

"And you're an old fool. What were you thinking, setting man traps? You know they're not allowed. What would have happened to you if the policeman were to have found out?" I demanded.

"It doesn't matter now, I caught my man," he said with grimace.

"You caught yourself," I reminded him. "Do you have a fever?" I placed my hand, still chilled from being outdoors, against his forehead. It felt warm, but his skin was neither clammy nor burning. He pushed my arm away.

"I caught him when he came by that way and found me," he told me with little patience. "Why else would he be out in Gas Wood at dawn?"

"Maybe he was working," I suggested. "Carlisle Cullen always winters his sheep on those ten acres at the far side of the wood. Is it so hard to imagine he was checking his father's livestock?"

"Maybe not if it was this alone. I've watched the boy though, Isabella, and I know a man who's up to no good when I see one."

"Nonsense," I scolded him, refusing to meet his eye as I fussed around, tucking the blankets around him. "I've known him all my life. He's a decent enough fellow, and really, I doubt he has the quickness of mind to succeed at poaching."

I knew this was far from the truth, but from nowhere I had the overwhelming desire to defend him to my father.

"You're too trusting and quick to believe the best in people, child," my father told me.

"Or perhaps you're too quick to fear the worst," I challenged him.

"Have you seen those dogs he's taken to keeping?" he asked, deliberately ignoring my last remark. "Great, rough-coated lurchers. They're not for herding sheep, that's for certain. There's only one reason a man keeps dogs like that, and that's hunting."

"I'll bring you a cup of tea," I told him as I turned and left the room, taking my doubts about the decent nature of Edward Cullen's character with me.

~WH~

**I'd love to hear your thoughts so far, leave a review and let me know :)**


	2. Chapter 2

****A/N Thanks for the feedback on the first chapter! I guess we'll carry on then :)****

****Thanks again to Chocaholic123 and Claire Bamboozle for their help and support on this x****

**Chapter 2**

My father was one of Lord Newton's better known and respected workers with many years' loyal service to his name. Mrs Cope was rather fond of him too, and so as she'd dismissed me to check on his condition, she'd made it clear I wasn't to hurry, so long as I was back for the following day's early morning milking.

I stayed the night at the cottage, shivering as I cuddled up to Alice for warmth in the bed we'd always shared.

"Oh, I've missed you!" Alice declared as she clung to me to ride out the chills that wracked her little body.

"Missed me or my warmth?" I asked, with a smile.

"Both," she replied, giggling through her chattering teeth. "Always both."

The gamekeeper's cottage was on the estate, a good half an hour's walk from the main house and the dairy. I woke in good time to be back for the half past five milking, taking up my clothes in the cold air of the bedroom and sneaking out in just my underwear, leaving my sister slumbering peacefully. As I was the only one awake, I washed by the still-glowing coals of the fire in the kitchen. The warmth was a luxury compared to how I usually dressed in my servants' lodgings during winter; hurriedly in the stark coldness, the room so chilled that ice formed on the inside of the windows.

I had barely finished fastening my dress, when a sound outside startled me. I made my way across the room and foolishly, without giving it any kind of thought, unlatched and pulled open the front door, gasping as the winter air struck me as thoroughly as a drenching from a pail of icy water. Peering into the darkness I saw the shape of a man, a large, rangy dog at his side, disappearing into the woods that ran close to the house. I called out as loudly as I dared, without risking wakening anybody else. The man faltered and glanced back. Despite the blackness that part-shrouded him, I knew enough, had _watched _enough to recognise exactly who he was.

It was only as I stepped back, ready to close the door, that I noticed his reason for calling. A pair of dead, paunched rabbits lay on the doorstep.

He was gone when I looked back up, stolen away into what remained of the nighttime. Bending, I retrieved his quarry from the step and brought them inside, closing the door. As I hung them from a nail in a cool corner of the pantry, I recalled the unease in my mother's eyes as she wondered aloud how they would manage with Father bedridden.

Clearly someone else understood the struggles ahead too.

If I had been convinced of Edward's innocence, even in the face of my father's claims, my thoughts were thrown into turmoil by what I had seen. The evidence was becoming impossible to ignore. Firstly, he'd happened upon my father at dawn, somewhere he had no cause to be, and secondly, he and his hunting dog were roaming the land during the night, with rabbits he'd more than likely caught himself.

The ordinary people in the community loved a poacher, but as the daughter of a game-keeper, I'd been raised to feel contempt for them, these vermin of civilised society and thieves all. They were the enemy, to be engaged and beaten in a battle every bit as serious as any war.

An uncomfortable sense of disloyalty tapped away at my conscience, as I slipped away from the cottage without a word to anybody about what I had witnessed..

**~AWT~**

I couldn't be sure if Edward Cullen was present more often at the estate farm in the following days, or if I simply noticed him more readily as I went about my work with the cows and in the dairy. Afraid I was succumbing to insanity, I purposefully adopted a light tone and mentioned his increasingly frequent presence to Rosalie Hale, with whom I carried out my duties.

She glanced up from the butter she was diligently washing, and examined a spot on the dairy wall as she cast her mind back.

"Yes, maybe," she concluded. That was that.

My own mind remained unsatisfied, but I unwillingly paid more attention to him each time he appeared. His hair, a rich, deep bronze colour that matched that of the breast of the cock pheasant, always showed beneath his cap, which in turn sat jauntily on his head.

As the days passed I noticed he would wander closer, much as an animal that grows tame through trust. I made certain not to startle him, indeed I barely acknowledged his presence, until one morning he finally spoke.

"Would I help you with that?"

I started at the sound of the unexpected voice, knocking my pail slightly and watching in dismay as a wave of the warm, creamy milk sloshed over the side and pooled on the floor. "Sorry, I meant no harm." I looked up to find him standing beside me. He was tall; taller than I'd thought as I hadn't had cause to be this close to him since we were children, and the distance we'd kept since then clearly played tricks on the mind.

I turned my head quickly left and right, looking to make sure we weren't being watched.

"You shouldn't be in here," I hissed. "If someone should find you..."

He smiled, and the gaiety lit up his face, despite the dim light in the milking parlour. I tried not to stare because I'd been taught it was rude, but his eyes were the unseasonal green of new spring grass in the meadow, and I found myself unable to look away.

"Where are you taking these?" he asked. His voice was smooth, carrying the words flawlessly from his mouth and feeding it gently onto my skin where it raised goose pimples. The feeling caused my mind to lose its way, and I failed to answer him immediately. The tip of his tongue emerged from between his lips, wetting them as he waited for me to respond.

"Oh!" My cheeks burned when my thoughts caught up and I realised he was waiting on me. "The dairy," I replied, and although I'd intended arguing about his helping, I found myself removing the now redundant wooden yoke from my neck, and walking ahead, showing him the way as he carried both the pails as easily as if they were filled with feathers, rather than the heavy milk.

"You can set them there," I told him when we reached the dairy, pointing to a spot on the floor He placed them carefully down and I expected him to leave, but instead he leaned against the marble-topped work space that ran around the edges of the room. His departure would have pleased me more, as the effect his presence had on me was such that I was beginning to feel rather unwell from the insistent churning of my stomach. "Thank you," I said, turning away from him to prepare everything I needed to make the milk into butter, and hoping he would understand it as the dismissal I intended it to be.

He made no sound, and I was forced to turn to see for myself whether he had stolen away or if he remained. A smile returned to his lips as I found him still there.

"Have you no work to do?" I asked, an air of petulance skating over my words.

"Aye, but I started early. It's done for now."

"I thought your father was a tenant farmer?" I queried, my curiosity about his recent appearance here over-riding my efforts to ignore him.

"He is. Winter's quiet though; my father scarcely has work for himself and my brother. His Lordship offered to give me work until the sheep come lambing."

"So you'll be at the Servants' Ball on Christmas Eve if you're working here?" I asked, listening carefully for his reply. The ball was all Rosalie and I had spoken of for weeks, such was our anticipation of the event. I had my dress all ready, a pretty blue one my mother had acquired from a friend for a very reasonable price. It wasn't new, but it was the loveliest thing I'd ever owned.

Edward laughed and I merely looked on, wide-eyed.

"Not likely! It's meant as a treat, I understand? Well I can think of no greater punishment!" He shook his head, amusement still sitting bright in his eyes as they fell back onto me. I hung my head, wondering if I should feel foolish for looking forward to it so.

"You shouldn't be in here." Rosalie's sharp voice brought me out of my thoughts, and my head sprung up in time to see her pushing past Edward, a tray of clean dishes in her hands.

"I've a message from my brother," he said, digging a folded scrap of paper from his jacket pocket and handing it to Rosalie. She looked down at it in his dirty hand and gingerly took it, stashing it quickly away in the pocket of her apron.

"Mrs Cope's on her way. You'd better make yourself scarce," she warned, her voice gentler than it had been when she first walked in. He nodded.

"Good day, Isabella," he said, touching his cap with thumb and forefinger and disappearing away through the door. I turned, put my head down and resumed my work.

Neither Rosalie nor I spoke, but I noticed her hand strayed often to the pocket of her apron, lingering a moment before moving away again. She excused herself no more than five minutes later, and I knew she'd hidden away somewhere to read the note. She arrived back in the dairy only a few minutes before Mrs Cope, her cheeks still flushed from whatever the note contained. I glanced her way often during the hours that followed, but she never caught my eye, instead she worked diligently, humming a happy melody as a small, enigmatic smile rested comfortably on her lips.

**~AWT~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Edward appeared often over the next few weeks. I queried with Rosalie why he was never in the servants' hall in the evenings, but she knew little other than that he remained living at home with his parents. Perhaps it was because his employment here was temporary, we pondered.

He didn't come every day, but I would always anticipate his arrival, hating myself for hoping so fervently, as the disappointment prodded at my heart on the days he didn't come. He never stayed long, which gave me many more hours in which to think over the things he said and the way he looked. His eyes watched me carefully, and even though I didn't always see them as I pushed on with my work, I could feel keenly when they were on me, the tell-tale tingling tip-toeing over my skin.

"My mother wrote and told me somebody more often than not leaves game on their doorstep at night." I was feeling brave, although I couldn't place why. I'd often taken to skirting around the matter of the offering on the doorstep the night I'd watched him skulk away into the woods, but he gave nothing away.

"There are some generous souls in these parts," he said, and although his mouth didn't turn up into a smile, his grass-green eyes shone with clear amusement.

"I know perfectly well who the _generous soul_ in question is," I told him with a derisory look as I propped up a scrubbed milk pan to drain ready for scalding, and set to scrubbing the next. Edward said nothing more, his silence annoying me more than anything he could have said. I scrubbed hard at the pan, and was busy trying to push back a piece of hair that had escaped from my hat by swiping at it with my arm, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Here, allow me."

He turned me slightly towards him and I stood, stock-still and wide-eyed, as he reached forward. His face was pure concentration as his eyes followed his hand. He frowned slightly, his full lips held together as his fingers brushed my hair gently back into place, tucking it beneath the edge of my cap. As he withdrew his hand, I remained still, unable to shake myself from the trance his touch had placed me in.

The sound of a door banging outside the dairy broke through my revery and stirred me thoroughly awake. Edward stepped away, and I turned back to my work, plunging my hands back into the milk pan and scrubbing at it.

"You need to stop coming here, we'll both be dismissed if they catch you," I whispered harshly at him, eyes darting to the doorway and praying it would be Rosalie.

"You never seem to mind my being here until someone else comes along," he says. He was right, of course, because those eyes and that brain of his never missed a thing.

"It's all well and good for you, you can go back to your father's farm. If I were dismissed I'd never be taken on elsewhere. My mother and father would die of shame."

He shrugged and placed his hands so deep into his trouser pockets that his shoulders slouched. My mouth dropped open as I wondered at his attitude.

"You don't even care," I said, shaking my head.

"Because it wouldn't be a bad thing. You wouldn't need to work," he told me with an easy smile. "I'd make you my wife. You could keep busy raising our children."

A thrill ran through me, lifting me so fast I had no time to identify whether it was excitement or panic. It dropped me abruptly as I realised he was teasing me. Of course a man of such fine appearance wouldn't want to marry me; I spent half of my time smelling of cows and the rest of soured milk, neither odour willing to be parted easily from either my clothes or my skin.

I ducked my head to try and hide my burning cheeks.

"Leave the girl be, Edward." It was a man's voice, and my heart leapt in my chest at being discovered. I couldn't see who it was from where I stood, but Edward turned to look at him. The man didn't venture inside and I took that as a sign that he wasn't here to punish us for fraternising. "Come, we've plenty to do."

I looked up in time to see Edward raise a hand in farewell, as he left without a word.

**~AWT~**

I was walking across the yard with Rosalie when Lord Newton and his son rode their horses past. Michael was a little older than I, and blessed with good looks as well as good standing. We waited for them to pass and ride out of sight, and then relaxed. Rosalie giggled and held onto my arm.

"Did you see, Isabella? How his Lordship's son watched you?"

"Nonsense," I argued back. Of course I had noticed, he'd stared quite openly, his lips toying with a smile the whole time.

"You should be careful," Rosalie warned me, suddenly growing serious. "It wouldn't be the first time he's taken a fancy to a serving girl."

"Really?" I questioned, my interest piqued by the promise of a juicy tale. "Who is she?"

"Oh, she's long gone!" Rosalie informed me. "They say he got her in trouble. She was dismissed and nobody's seen her since. Of course, it runs in the family. Lord Newton's brother Anthony had his fair share of scandal before they forced him into the army and he was killed in Africa."

"I didn't know Lord Newton had a brother." I found it surprising that I'd never heard tell of this before in a place so small. Rosalie drew herself up straight, seemingly proud to have demonstrated her superior knowledge.

"Nobody spoke much of him again," she told me in a hushed voice. "They were too afraid that by mentioning his military career, memories would be refreshed and the things they tried to bury would see the light of day again."

I was silent as I pondered her words.

"I have no interest in His Lordship's son anyway," I told her, returning to our original subject. She smiled.

"No, everyone knows where your interest lies," she said, nudging me hard enough to cause me to stumble on the cobbles. I looked at her in horror, already feeling the blush creeping across my cheeks.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I insisted testily. Rosalie laughed openly at me.

"Isabella Swan, you're as open a book as I ever did read! Although your efforts at indifference are endearing, they are nonetheless unconvincing. Your eyes come alive the very moment they alight on Edward Cullen. Protesting does nothing to change that very fact."

I considered arguing against her theory, but her face told me it would be fruitless, and so I remained silent.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she told me, quite matter-of-factly. "The Cullens are fine young men." Her blue eyes twinkled brightly and I thought of the notes Edward brought to her from his brother.

"He has no intention of attending the Servants' Ball," I informed her.

"And you thought he might?"

"I'd rather hoped he would. A moment spent here and there, and always with the threat of being discovered, grows a little…" I searched for the word to best convey my feelings. "Unsatisfying."

Rosalie laughed again. I stopped, looking on in surprise.

"What?" I asked, concerned I'd said something foolish.

"I can't imagine Edward Cullen ever behaving with enough decorum to attend a ball. If you have in mind a man who is content to adhere to social convention, then I suggest you set your sights elsewhere, sweet Isabella."

I felt my blood heat at her words and the suggestion of my naivety. I was already painfully aware of it each time he came near, I certainly didn't need reminding.

"And what of his brother?" I asked her, departing from social convention momentarily myself. "Is he of the same ilk, or is he better suited to polite company?" I heard the barb in my tone but I couldn't find it in me to care, after what I took to be her mockery.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," she replied, with a smile, and while I was sure she would, I chose not to press her further.

**~AWT~**

**A/N - The lovely Claire Bamboozle has made me two banners for this story, you can find them over on my FB account - Gemmah Fanfic - or my group Gemmah Fanfiction :). Thanks also to Claire and Chocaholic123 for their help with this story!**


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